


The Black Scorpion

by AlessNox



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adventure, But not really historical, Gen, Historical, Sailing, Sea, Ship, arghh!!!, cannons, disguises, gold - Freeform, lusty John, pirate, puzzle box, treasure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:24:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2367461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlessNox/pseuds/AlessNox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock the Pirate wants to steal the King's gold and he'll use whatever tricks he needs to do it. He sails the seven seas with trusty, lusty, Ship's surgeon John Watson at his side.<br/>A Sherlock Pirate story made for Speak Like a Pirate Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sherlock, the pirate!

The dark-haired Lieutenant Lestrade stood at attention as the red coated official took the stage to address the crowd. He lifted his parchment and read.

_"In the name of the king, an armada of ships will carry a payment of ten thousand gold coins to the King of France as a sign of our continued friendship. In return, the French crown has stated that they will aid us in patrolling our coastal waters. With the combined navies of France and England patrolling the channel, piracy will be a thing of the past, and our waters will once more be at peace."_

"Peace? poppycock!" a man in the crowd muttered. "You know that money they are sending to buy off the French king will return to us before long as cannon balls." A number of heads around him nodded. They all stepped back making way as the men marched off of the stage. The man who spoke of cannons bumping into a dirty beggar who was standing behind him.

"Spare a penny, Guv?" said the stooped figure in a dirty brown coat and tattered grey hat that looked like it had been fished from the jaws of several fighting cats. The man walked past without another glance, and the beggar shuffled away stopping for a moment to look up at a poster stuck to a lamp post. It had the picture of a thin man in a long coat with a three cornered hat and a curled black mustache with the words REWARD for SHERLOCK, The Pirate. Captain of the Black Scorpion. DEAD OR ALIVE emblazoned on the base. If one looked closely, one might have imagined that the beggar smiled.

He shuffled around the corner and entered a shadowed entry way. A few moments later a tall man in a black brushed leather coat emerged from the doorway and strode rapidly down the street. He entered the public house known as Mrs Hudson's and climbed the stairs. He took a moment to adjust his hat to a swarthy angle and uncovered his red scarf before banging on the door.

"John!" he called out.

He could hear muffled cries from behind the door and he rolled his eyes before kicking it open with one blow and yelling, "Loose your lustful limbs from that lubberly lass, ya scurvy wretch. It's time we be getting back to the ship!"

A rustle of rolling skirts revealed the shirtless torso of a man, sturdy and tan, his blond hair short and ruffled, a scar running down his left cheek. "But, Cap'm." he said in a winded voice, "give me a minute or two."

"I said NOW, John Watson or I'll run ya through with my cutlass me self!"

"Aye, Aye, Cap'm"

The tall man turned and rushed down the wooden steps of the public house twisting the end of his mustache with his right hand. He waved away the food that Mrs Hudson offered him and went to the the back table tossing his leg over the chair to sit down.

A few moments later, John came jingling down the stairs still fastening his belt. He sat across from the tall man and took the offered mug of beer and plate of cheese and bread.

"So what is this news that is so damn important that you need to interrupt my ...weekly exercises."

"Weekly?" Sherlock grunted. The man glared at him over his plate and took another bite.

Sherlock laced his fingers together and leaned over the table as he began to speak."There's a fat shipment of gold being sent to France. Supposedly it is an anti-piracy measure to double the guard against bandits in local seas, but actually it is simply a bribe to appease that baby of a French king who has promised another war with England. We can't let him have that gold can we?"

"Of course not. Why, It'd be downright disloyal of us to let him have it. Good British gold should stay in the hands of the British! I say we take that ship, Cap'm."

"I think you're right, Little John."

John scowled and his eyes turned dark. "You need to stop calling me Little John, or I swear I'll shoot the nose straight off your face. You know I can."

"You can shoot the beak off of a sparrow at a hundred paces, but you would never shoot me."

"Try me."

The two of them locked eyes glaring across the table at each other, and then the smaller man began to laugh and then the larger man, until the two of them were guffawing bent over with glee.

Wiggin rushed in then and said, "The crew is all aboard and ready to sail when you are, Cap'n."

Sherlock rose to his feet and tightened the belt of his cutlass over his long coat. He looked down at John, "Ready for a fight?"

"Always," he said with a smile, and they ran off across the dark cobblestones toward their ship, The Black Scorpion."


	2. The Black Scorpion

The orange-red light of sunset glared off of the mast of the merchant ship, The Baker, as it sailed out of port that evening. It wasn't standard practice for ships to set sail at dusk, but schedules sometimes demanded such things, and the stolid captain William Scott was a businessman who kept his schedules, or so he was perceived in Portsmouth.

But after the ship left sight of the shore and the last glow of evening turned to full dark, the good captain Scott removed his grey hat with the gold trim and wrapped a red scarf around his wayward black curls as he watched his ship undergoing a similar transformation. The crew lowered the false sail, quickly replacing it with full battle rigging. The new black sails made the ship almost invisible as it cut across the dark waters. Ominous and deadly, it was transformed into a pirate ship. Even the name plate of the Baker unfolded to reveal the image of a scorpion carved in the darkest mahogany.

Sherlock smiled as he heard the uneven tread of John Watson approaching, his leg having been damaged while fighting against the corsairs as his ship returned from an unsuccessful Afghan voyage. It was a hard-won battle, but they returned with a bounty of silks stolen from the Shah's court, only to be let go when a peace treaty was signed with them. Well, the navy's loss was Sherlock's gain as he had got the best ship's surgeon in England as his shipmate.

"T'is a fair night for a sail," John said. "And look! Mars is in Sagittarius, a good portent for a battle."

"Where is Sagittarius?"

John glared up at him. "Honestly, how you became a captain when you don't even have a basic understanding of astronomy, I'll never know."

"The North Star is all I need know. Besides if one knows the workings of the sea and the winds, what use are the stars?"

John laughed. "I'm going down to catch a bit of shuteye. You?"

"You know me, John. I can't sleep at the beginning of a voyage." John patted his shoulder and went below.

Sherlock lifted his collar against the wind and strode across the deck of his ship watching the constellations circle overhead, twinkling clouds of galaxies rolling slowly by above the echoing darkness of the sea. He stood on the bow watching the silent waves until the first blue rays of dawn reached up to greet him across the rim of the world.

With the dawn came a shift change. The men rushed to their places at the sign of the bell, mindful of the captain's watchful eye. The captain had a harsh tongue and little mercy for those who shirked their work, but he was fair to those who showed competence. He had a weather eye, and he was the first to draw attention to the wall of cloud on the horizon spying it even before the boy in the crow's nest.

The blue sky was shrouded by grey clouds, and the winds became changeable as the ship's master called out commands to the men in the rigging. Rain pelleted down bouncing off the captain's three-cornered hat. He walked into his cabin to find that John had just risen. The room was warm with polished wooden panels painted with a bright _fleur de lis_ pattern. Sherlock trounced across the room and plopped down on the couch longways, his coat still wrapped around him.

"Can't you take off your coat and hat first before you leak all over the cabin?" John said leaning out to close and secure the window shutters. It looks to be a wet morning. Would you like me to make you a cup of tea?"

"Yes," Sherlock said tossing his hat across the cabin to catch on a hook on the wall. He smiled, and then dropped his head back against the arm of the couch.

John heated his charcoal brazier and set water to boil in a copper Turkish coffee pot. John's unsurpassed skill in making coffee and tea was one of the many advantages of having him as a shipmate. The warm aroma of his drinks surpassed all other brews, and Sherlock refused food and drink from any other hand, which was an advantage as poison was a major killer of pirate captains.

"So what is your plan?" John asked.

"What plan? One can't devise a plan in the absence of facts. First we must find out when and where the ship is sailing, the strength of the contingent sent to guard it, and who is in command of its defense."

"Well that won't be hard to guess. They'll send Captain Quay. He's the only one with a gunship with enough firepower to protect a treasure of gold."

"Quay is an idiot!"

"Yes, but his Lieutenant, Lestrade, is not."

"That might be an issue if they ever gave Lestrade his own command, but as long as he's under Quay, there won't be a problem."

"Are you forgetting the Canary Cove incident?"

Sherlock frowned. "Well_, Lestrade uncovered our plot THAT time. But that was just luck. He may be the least unintelligent officer in the British Navy, but he's still an idiot."

"Am I an idiot as well?"

"Of course you are, but then almost everybody is."

John chuckled as he poured the hot water into the teapot to brew. Sherlock jumped up and leaned over John watching the steam rise from the pot. He put a hand up to the roof to steady himself as the increased wind caused the ship to rock. The sound of rain pelleting down on deck rose, and he peered out the window before returning to sit at the table.

"We'll make a stop in the rock cove and send for our informants. They must have heard something by now. I might even go out myself," Sherlock said.

"Always with the disguises. Don't you know there's a price on your head. If you were ever found out?"

"When have I ever been found out, John? Most of the time even you can't tell who I am when in disguise."

"True, even so..."

"People see but they don't observe. One can walk right up to them and pick their pocket and they'll never notice till they get home that evening. Like I said, John. People are idiots."

"True, but it's those idiots we are depending on to get our information so do me a favor and when we talk to them, please keep your opinions to yourself."

John added tea, goat's milk, and honey to a gold rimmed cup and passed it to Sherlock before making a cup for himself.

Sherlock took a sip and his eyes closed in pleasure. John smiled. "Might be hard docking in this storm," he said.

"It's just a summer fancy. We'll be through it long before landfall," Sherlock said, and as if it had heard his words, the rainfall stopped. John looked up at the ceiling. " How do you do that? It's amazing."

"You think so?"

"I know so. Another cup?"

"No, I'm up to take the wheel. There will be a good breeze on the tail of this storm, and I plan for us to ride it. Coming?"

"As soon as I secure this. Don't want the ship ablaze before we can capture that treasure, do we?"

Sherlock turned and left the cabin climbing up to the wheel well. The sky was clearing, and the sea was overhung with a host of small puffy clouds in a sky of pale blue. Sherlock put on his hat and took the wheel, sailing toward a bright and exciting future full of spies, battles, and adventure.


	3. The Rocky Cove

The cove was a jagged cluster of white rocks, far enough off shore so that no one could easily swim there, but close enough to reach by rowboat. It was a poor home for anything more than a few birds, or maybe a goat, but the water was deep, and once inside, the black scorpion could sit unseen even by ships that passed close by. Only the captain and one or two others had the skill to pilot the craft through the narrow entrance. Even so, a man was stationed on port and starboard as they passed between the crags to make sure that they cleared the sharp sides.

There was a little hut half-up the side of the rock where pigeons were kept. Wiggin took messages from the captain and tied them to the pigeon's legs before releasing them. Then a boat was sent out to shore to wait.

That evening after nightfall, the boat returned with a single passenger, a rotund woman with a plain face who walked right across the deck and into the captain's cabin with hardly a thought. She sat down and took Sherlock's offered sip of brandy. John came in and looked at the old round-faced woman who sat fanning herself, a white scarf tied below her chin.

"There you are, John," Sherlock said, "This is Mrs Effie Monroe, a cook at the local garrison. I helped bring her young daughter from oversees several years ago, and she aids me when she can. Have you heard any news, Effie?"

"Indeed I have!" The woman said dabbing sweat from her face with a handkerchief. "A mess of news and no mistake. There's many a soldier who thinks that it is a mistake to be sending gold to the French. They won't say it where the higher-ups will hear, but even the officers are upset about it. There was, apparently, some harsh words said in the capital. The Admiral hisself objected, but the King would have none of it. He said that it were going and that was that! But then, there was some talk that the gold might go missing before it could arrive, so the king had the money put into the Queen Isabella puzzle box for the journey!"

"The Queen Isabella puzzle chest? Are you sure?"

"As certain as I am of anything. It's to sail out of the port a London and meet up with an escort before the crossing. They're none too pleased about it, but word is the money will be in France by Michaelmas."

"But what of the instructions? The chest will be worthless to them without the instructions."

"I've not heard a thing about no... in strictions."

"No matter. Excellent work Effie! If you hear anymore, send me word. Here's a little something for your troubles, and here's something for your little girl."

"Ackee fruit? Oh bless you, sir! Mary gets so homesick sometime for island cooking. Bless you."

"Wright!, make sure that Effie here gets back to shore safely."

"Aye Aye, Cap'n," Wright said following behind the woman as she bustled out with her fruit. She turned and smiled back at Sherlock who held a smile until the moment the door closed.

He turned toward the astonished face of John Watson who said, "So she was who you bought those ugly fruits for? We traded a keg of good ale for those things. Do people actually eat them? I thought that you said they were poisonous."

"So they are, John. Best leave the cooking to the professionals. But it was certainly worth the trouble. To think that we get not only the gold, but Queen Isabella's Chest as well! Good Lord It's Christmas!"

"What is this...Queen Isabella's chest? Please tell me it belongs to an attractive young lady."

"Not that kind of chest, John. Get your mind out of the gutter! It is a chest of wood and steel one of four made by the great craftsman Giuseppe Giotto for Queen Isabella of Spain to house her rare treasures from the Americas. It is a royal relic and a wonder of science. A chest that can only be opened when done so in the correct sequence. I've always wanted to see it."

"I don't understand? Why can't you just break it open, or burn it?"

"Burn it? It's a work of art! Have you ever seen a concealing chest before. They have hidden compartments that cannot even be glimpsed. They can hold strong boxes that seal shut if the chest is damaged. Someone tried to steal a golden crown concealed in one such chest before by setting the box ablaze. They found that the box had a network of steel bands woven throughout, so that even when the fire was through, the contents could not be reached. Without the instructions of how to open it, the box is useless."

"So the gold is going to be put in a puzzle chest to give to the King of France. Why?"

"To keep if from being tampered with. You heard her? The decision to send the money is unpopular. It would be a simple thing to _'alter'_ the amount slightly so it was less than what's promised. The French King would surely be offended, and refuse it. This way, they know that it'll reach France intact."

"But how did a box from the former Queen of Spain make its way to England in the first place?"

"With her daughter?"

"Who?"

"With her daughter, Catherine of Aragon. She came from Spain to Marry King Arthur of Wales, and when he died, she was married to his brother, King Henry XIII. I thought you were a learned man, John. Don't you know your history?"

"I know some, yes, but I didn't think you knew any. Christ! You don't even know who the current King is! You said that history is boring. "

"I don't know boring history, John. King Henry's life was _not_ boring."

John rolled his eyes and sat in his chair. Sherlock walked across the cabin and slid aside an elaborately carved door to reveal a skull. He picked it up and looked into the eye sockets. "Now where can we find the instructions to open that chest? What say you, Hmmm?"

"Do you think that skull will be able to tell you anything useful?"

"Why not? He was a good captain in his day, and a wily man."

"Not wily enough to escape the axe."

Sherlock ignored him and continued to stare at the skull. "So, where will we find the instructions to that treasure chest?"

"I've never heard of it before. How did you know of it?" John asked.

Sherlock put the skull back on the shelf and turned toward John. "You know that I've always had a liking for clever devices. I heard tell of this box when I was just a lad. I had a tutor who enjoyed his wine and talk much better than sums. He told me about the box. Queen Catherine had it with her while she waited for the divorce. She kept treasures in it that she didn't want her husband to take. It was a secret even among the royals. Bloody Mary got it next. She kept it in some back room in Hatfield House, a curiosity for the children to play with."

"Then how did this tutor hear about it if it was such a secret?"

"Apparently, Mary told her confessor all about it. Had it written up in a book with diagrams. It was at the school at Oxfordshire, until the king decided to claim it again and called for the book to be taken to London."

"So this book is what they plan to send to the King of France?"

"No, I wouldn't think so. I've not heard that he was much of a reader. They'll probably just make a copy of the relevant papers. It's routine to ...Oh! That's brilliant! Copies!" Sherlock said turning to John. "Why didn't I think of it? John! You're magnificent! One day you may be able to replace the skull."

"Why thank you. What did you just figure out?"

"My tutor said that it was at the school when he went there. It was routine practice for students to copy out books as part of their studies. If the book was only recently taken from Oxford, then I may know how to find a copy of the drawings."

"Where?"

"It's not a where, it's a who. It'll be with Bartelby the shipbuilder."

"Who?

"Simon Bartleby, the Norfolk builder. Come, John, we've no time to lose. We need to make this ship look respectable again if we're to sail into port." Sherlock ran our the door and rang the bell himself. He leaned over the rail and yelled down at the men. "Look Lively ye scallawags and scurvy wretches! I give you one hour to make this ship look like a respectable merchant barge, and if I see anyone draggin' their feet, I'll have 'em keelhauled!"

The crew rushed into action hurrying to disguise the ship, glancing now and again at the Captain who stood watching with John Watson grinning like a skull at his side, his deadly pistol held casually in his hand. When the Captain sailed her back through the rock gate, The Scorpion had white sails and new paint job that declared her The Cuckoo, a ship of Flemish registry carrying fabric and mail. It sailed across the waves heading North for the Norfolk coast.


	4. The Norfolk Builder

The Cuckoo passed slow moving grain ships as it entered the great river Ouse. It arrived at the port of King's Lynn with the first light of day.

Sherlock wore a blue coat over a white shirt with a square Dutch color and a tall thin flat topped hat, his narrow brim turned down to shield his eyes. He walked down the plank with his nose upturned, barely sparing a moment for the port master as he turned to walk toward town.

John followed him, hands clasped behind his back. An unremarkable assistant in black marching on the heels of his captain.

"Sir, sir...Captain!"

Sherlock turned back. "Hallo?"

"Might I see your papers? You are captain of the Cuckoo, I expect?"

"Obviously? You are the port master. Now we have met. I have business. I shall be on my way."

"But sir, there is the small matter of the fee."

"Do you not know of the Cuckoo? This is not our regular port. We have come with messages, which I will now deliver. Your _port fees_ and other nonsense must wait until I return. Goedemorgen."

He put a hand to his hat and strode down the dock toward the Custom House leaving the man behind. John caught up with him then and said in a harsh whisper. "You always amaze me when you do that. The stage lost a good actor when you turned to piracy."

"Quiet, John. They'll hear," Sherlock said striding faster, though he mostly rushed ahead to hide from John his unbidden grin.

They walked past the warehouses into an older area of the port that looked a bit run down. Here they heard the sound of sawing and hammering even though the sun had barely risen above the tops of the houses. Sherlock removed his hat and rushed ahead, his voice no longer disguised.

"You're starting early, Simon. What are we building today?"

"Sherlock!" A man called out. He climbed down from the scaffolding and put down a wooden mallet before stretching out his hand to Sherlock. "So you've finally come to visit as I asked. What do you want? I know it can't be a social visit, not with you dressed as if you just walked out of a Coffee House.

"I seek knowledge of a curiosity. Do you mind if we go inside to talk? My friend and I could use a cup of coffee this morning if you don't mind."

"Of course, of course. Come."

The man turned and began walking toward a low building with a shingled roof. He had dirty blond hair parted in the middle. Brown leather breaches and a leather apron which he removed as he passed through the low door to enter a warm house. A girl with mousy brown hair brightened as Sherlock entered.

"Molly, get us some coffee, will you? We have business to discuss."

The girl took a breath and mooned over Sherlock before rushing out of the room without a word.

John sat at the wide wooden table which was littered with sketches and plans for ships, cabinets, siege engines, and even a flying machine. John wondered who this man was who Sherlock referred to simply as Bartleby the Norfolk builder.

"So, what is it that brings you back to dry land to talk to poor old Bartleby? Trouble with your ship?"

"No, nothing of the sort. She's as fine as she ever was. No, what we've come to ask you about today is whether you have a certain drawing that I want."

Bartelby gestured at the table. "I have as many drawings as you need of things real and imagined. What sort of drawing do you desire?"

"A drawing of a chest, Queen Isabella's puzzle chest to be exact." Bartleby stared at Sherlock, and his eyes became shrewd.

Molly came in then with a wooden tray carrying milk and some very flat scones. "The coffee will be another minute. I just put it on the stove and I..."

"Molly, dear. Can you go to the stable and get us some milk?"

"But I have milk, father."

"We have guests. Get us some fresh."

She looked between the two of them, and then walked out of the house.

"Now Sherlock, you are not the first person to have mentioned Queen Isabella's treasure box to me this week. Seems as if it has become a bit of a hobby in some quarters to wonder about its manufacture and manner of opening."

"Others have asked about it? Who?"

"I'd rather not say at this time, but I must tell you that I am a family man, and I have to be careful what I say and do. If it were to reach the King's ears that I had been aiding someone who wanted to... how should I say this...oppose his policies, it would be my head on the block, and I don't have a convenient ship to sail away in."

"No one need know that we were ever here."

"I think that after a certain treasure goes missing, and the prize money for the capture of the thief becomes even higher, then many people might remember the ship that sailed into Kings Lynn and the tall good looking merchant who rushed in to have a talk with old Barneby."

"Are you saying that you won't help us?" John interrupted.

The man turned to him for the first time taking in his scar and his simple manner. His eyes narrowed and he tilted his head catching sight of the bulge of a pistol beneath John's coat.

"Simon Barneby, this is my friend, Dr. John Watson."

John stretched out his hand, and after a minute Bartelby took it. "Doctor is it?"

"Yes, I'm ship's surgeon."

"And Sherlock's friend?"

"Yes, I have that honor."

"In my experience, Sherlock doesn't make many friends. You must be an exceptional man."

"He is," Sherlock said, "With an exceptionally tough skin. I wish there was a way that I could persuade you."

"There are too many eyes in town right now. I would appreciate it if you pretended to have some legitimate business in town before you go. A ship that comes into port and does no trading is suspicious. People want to classify you, to know why you came."

"Why, don't you know, Simon. We're a mail carrier. I just gave you a missive from a Copenhagen Insurance Company asking the strength and carrying capacity of a certain ship. It failed off the coast of Africa and is calling in their policy, but the company thinks the claim is faked."

"That's a good start, but you'll need more than that to convince the others that you really have a valid reason to be here."

"If we had such an excuse, if everyone thought that we had a reason to be here, would you give us the plans to Isabella's Chest?"

"I would consider it, but as things stand now."

"Then consider it done." Sherlock rose to his feet just as Molly returned with the fresh milk and coffee.

"We just needed to deliver that request, and now we will be on our way."

"But your coffee?" Molly called out?

"Later," Sherlock said and nodded before striding out of the door.

John looked wistfully at the coffee before turning to follow Sherlock. After they had gone out of ear shot of the place he put out a hand and stopped him. "What was that about?"

"Bartelby has the plans but others want it too. He is pretending that he knows nothing of it, but if we leave straight after coming to talk to him..."

"Then the others will realize that he was lying, and he'll be in danger."

"Exactly."

"So what are we going to do?"

"Something I never expected. We will take on an honest bit of cargo."


	5. Deduction and Carriage Tracks

It was not quite as easy to find a cargo in rural Norfolk as it would have been in Londontown. The major exports were agricultural, and the Black Scorpion, now the Cuckoo, was not equipped to house them. The other problem was that whatever cargo they took had to be something that they could easily and quickly sell. After the fourth supplier turned them down, the captain sent to the ship to see if any of the men were from Norfolk.

Sam Potts had spent two summers in Cromer as a boy, and so he was brought from below decks to talk to the locals. His accent did seem to loosen the tongues of the pub folk better than Sherlock's faked Dutch, and they were directed to consult a local nobleman, Lord Staffam, who apparently controlled the trade in the city.

The locals did not, however, know the best way to get an invitation to dine at Lord Staffam's house, so Sherlock decided to find his own way. The two of them stood in the cobblestone streets and looked up at the impressive house where Lord Staffam lived. John watched as Sherlock walked from the gate to the stables and bent down feeling in the groove made by the carriage wheels. He picked up a bit of mud on the tip of his glove and sniffed it. Then he set off down the street with John at his heels. Sometime later he turned to face a house with decorative iron work and a Spanish rose above the door. He walked up the drive, touched the ground, and rolled some mud between his fingers.

"This is the place," Sherlock said rising to his feet and dusting the dirt off of his gloves.

"What place? What have we been doing?"

"Finding our lever. Come John," he said and walked up to the door and knocked.

"Hello," Sherlock said in his fake voice "I am here to see the lady if you please."

"Of course sir, and your name?" Sherlock looked aside at John. "Hercules. Hercules Black."

The servant went back into the house, and after some moments he returned. He bowed and gestured them inside saying, "Madam Violet Cartwright will see you in the morning room."

they were shown into a sitting room with walls of polished pine, and a chaise longue upholstered in yellow velvet. The lady of the house had blond hair with hints of red and a heavily powdered face. She was in her early thirties, but trying desperately to look younger in a green dress cut very low to show her cleavage. She held out her hand. Sherlock took it and kissed it.

"Madam Cartwright, I am so honored to meet you at last."

"Hello Mr. Black. I am afraid that you have the advantage of me. I do not remember where you might have heard of me."

Sherlock lifted his head so that their faces were close together, but did not release her hand. "Why in London. It is said that in all of Norfolk there is none to compare in beauty with the lovely Madam Violet Cartwright. Forgive me for my forwardness in coming unannounced, but now that I see you, I know that none of it is exaggerated."

Madam Violet flushed. "Why sir, you charm me."

Sherlock gazed up into her eyes, and John had to turn away to keep from smiling. Sherlock then raised himself to his full height and looked down into her face before releasing her hand. They stood a bit closer than propriety would consider acceptable. Then he bowed and stepped back.

"And with that dearest Lady Violet, I will take my leave. For it was only to spy your face that I came to this place. Helen in her glory could not compare with your divine beauty, Adieu."

Sherlock turned away and walked toward the door. The woman reached out her hand. "Wait!" she called. John who was standing behind the woman rolled his eyes as Sherlock turned back.

"Yes, Madam Cartwright?"

"I cannot let you leave without giving you a meal. It would insult my hospitality."

Sherlock's mouth opened in surprise, "A meal, with you, my lady? I would not dare impose."

"Nonsense, it is no imposition at all. I am having a dinner this evening for a few friends. I would be most happy if you and your companion would dine with me tonight."

Sherlock crossed the room and took her hand again. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. I would adore it if you would come."

"Thank you, thank you. In all my fantasies, I never imagined that such a thing would occur," he said and actually fell on his knee before kissing her hand again. "Until tonight, fair one."

Sherlock rose to his feet and walked slowly toward the door turning back twice before leaving the room. Madam Cartwright was holding one hand over her heart, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her eyes wide as saucers. As the front door closed behind them, Sherlock took his gloves out of his pocket and put them on before striding away down the lane.

"Are you going to tell me what that was all about?"

"The carriage tracks, John. They led from Lord Staffam's house to here. Madam Cartwright is Lord Staffam's mistress."

"Are you sure?"

"Almost positive. The name, common, a woman raised above her station. She is vain and aging and she fears that a younger woman would replace her. Her fears are misplaced. I already can tell by the house and the depth of the tracks in the drive that Lord Staffam is set in his ways. He likes tradition and familiarity. He won't replace her until he has to. He will come tonight and that will be our chance. I will wear the black coat and the lace collar. Yes, this contract is almost in our hands.

John smiled and laughed as he followed Sherlock back to the boat. Neither of them noticed the man in the dirty grey turban who watched their retreat. He followed just long enough to guess their destination and then ran back down the cobbled streets and into the shadows.


	6. The White Lady

They were dressed their best as they stood at the door of Lady Cartwright's house. They entered to the sound of fine music, a flute, violin and cello played. The lady came out herself to greet them in a dress of pale blue silk and a pearl headdress shaped in the form of daisies. Sherlock whispered to John that His Lordship must have spotted her as a young girl when daisies would have suited her, but waited a few years before the official offer. They entered a large parlor to find eight to ten people milling about. There were more men than women. Violet did not like competition. Sherlock located Lord Staffam right away as he sat in a chair beside the fire, and a host of young men stood around as if hanging on his every word. Sherlock ignored him and continued his attentions to Madam Cartwright who tittered and fanned herself with a white fan adorned with swan feathers.

It wasn't long before Lord Staffam's eyes turned toward them. He rose to his feet and walked over to her placing a finger lightly on the tip of her elbow as he asked, "My darling Violet, who might this young man be?"

Violet's blush became even more pronounced as she announced him. "Why, this is the distinguished merchant Hercule Black from Copenhagen. He has come from London in search of trade goods bound for the continent. I told him that if anyone can help him find a cargo that it would be you, My Lord. Everyone knows that you are the true shipping power in Norfolk.

Lord Staffam preened. Apparently Sherlock was not the only one skilled at flattery. "Copenhagen you say? Let me see. There might be something. Let me introduce you to some people."

Lord Staffam put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and led him toward the fire, his other arm claimed by the lovely Madam Cartwright. John, abandoned, stood alone nursing his glass of wine. He felt rather than heard the change in the room turning to see a young man enter. He was ordinary and unimpressive, but the woman at his side was stunning. John jerked back his chin and stared.

The woman wore a dress of the purest white silk with a sash of black crossing her chest at a diagonal. Her puffed sleeves drew attention to the low curve of her neckline, and the most perfect figure that John had seen in many a day. Her dark brown hair was piled on top of her head and adorned with white peacock feathers and diamonds that sparkled in the low light like the jewels of Araby. She strode into the room as if she owned it dragging the slightly dazed young man with her.

Lord Staffam rose to his feet. "Why Everson. Who is this vision you have brought with you tonight?"

The man bowed "Miss Catherine Dubois, may I introduce Lord Staffam. Lord Staffam, this is Miss Dubois, a distant cousin of my sister. She has been away at the French court for some time, but she returned to visit her sister who was in confinement. Now that the child is born, she is taking some time to see the country and visit family before returning.

The lady held out her gloved hand to Lord Staffam. "E _nchanté,_ " She said.

"Indeed! Pleased to make your acquaintance." He kissed her hand.

Madam Cartwright stepped forward and bowed her head in greeting, but if her eyes had been daggers she could not have made it any more clear that she wanted the young lady gone. John ran an appraising eye up and down appreciating the Lady's form. Then he turned toward Sherlock only to stop in surprise at the look on Sherlock's face. He was staring at her the same way that he stared at a treasure map or a particularly fine new crossbow. John's levity turned to worry as he watched how Sherlock's gaze never wavered from this new item of admiration.

He started to walk toward Sherlock, but before he reached him, the bell for dinner was rung, and they were herded into the dining room to eat. As a lowly assistant, John was placed at the foot of the table beside an elderly miller's widow with poor eyesight, so he didn't get to hear what Sherlock was talking about, but it appeared that Sherlock was having a lively conversation with the young woman. Sherlock sat on Lady Cartwright's left and Miss Dubois sat across from him. The Lord seemed to try to enter the conversation from time to time, but Sherlock and Miss Dubois seem to only have eyes for each other. It seemed to please Madam Cartwright who took the opportunity to solidify her position with the Lord by offering him treats from her own fork.

John took another sip of wine and frowned. After dinner when the men were to excuse themselves to the smoking room, Sherlock delayed staying behind with the ladies. John caught his eye and frowned until Sherlock excused himself and walked out into the hallway to talk to him.

"Sherlock, we came to talk to Lord Staffam, not the ladies. Don't you think that you ought to be in that smoking room with him?"

"Don't worry, John. I've already got the contract. There will be someone coming with the cargo in the morning."

"Then what is this? I never thought of you as one to be taken in by a pretty face."

"Her face, John? Do you honestly think I am interested in her because of her face?"

"Well, actually I think her best features are a little lower down, but ..."

"Please, John. Watch your language!"

Madam Cartwright came out into the hall then and smiled at Sherlock, "There you are, I was just coming to get you. The ladies wanted you to tell us some stories from your homeland."

"I would love too, but ...I'm sorry but I have a cargo coming in the morning. I wouldn't have been able to do any of this without your help. Thank You. You are a goddess!" he said and he kissed her hand before departing quickly from the house.

He tossed off his collar and coat as soon as he entered his cabin standing in only his breeches and white shirt which was open wide at the neck. "Thank God! I am so glad to be out of that restrictive collar. How do people stand it, John?"

"I've often wondered that about corsets," John said.

Sherlock laughed, " You and your women, John."

"Me and my women? I could say that about you. What were you doing at dinner party? You were practically making love to Madam Cartwright, and your attentions to Miss Dubois were downright scandalous!"

"When did you turn into an nosy old lady, John. It was my job to flirt."

"It's your job to _pretend_ to flirt. That, my dear man, was the real thing. I know flirting when I see it. What is it that you see in Miss Dubois?"

Sherlock turned to him, honestly astonished. "You don't like her, John? I've never known you not to like a pretty woman. What is it about her that offends you?"

John stared at Sherlock, his lips pursed. "I don't know, but there is something a bit off with that woman. She doesn't feel right."

"She's French. That might be all that you are sensing."

"She's not French. She's an Englishwoman who lives in France. And there is something about her. Just, be careful around her, alright?"

"I won't be around her at all after tonight, John. Didn't I tell you? We are taking on cargo tomorrow morning."

Just then there was a knock and Wiggin called through the door, "Visitor for you, sir. A lady visitor."

Sherlock and John looked at each other, and John's frown deepened.

"Let her in!" Sherlock called.

The door opened, and in walked Molly.

She stopped just inside the door and her jaw dropped to see Sherlock in only a shirt and breeches.

"Yes, Molly. What is it?"

"I...I came with...uh?"

"Out with it girl!"

"I brought you, something from my father."

Sherlock strode across the room and took a leather folder from the girl's hands. He opened it to reveal a few pieces of yellow parchment which he threw down on the table below the oil lamp.

Look at this, John. The plans for the Isabella Puzzle Chest. Why this is magnificent! The workmanship. There must be five separate hidden compartments, and the detail! Hidden springs, carvings concealing hidden switches. Oh, if I could only get my hands on this box, I wouldn't rest until I had revealed all of its secrets. I would open every hidden drawer, run my fingers through all of its secret places. Is there something else that you wanted, Molly? You look flushed."

"Oh. No. That's all I came for," she said.

"Then you can go."

Molly turned and rushed from the cabin her cheeks red as a tomato.

John downed the last of his drink, "We've an early start tomorrow, I'm off to bed. You?"

"Don't be ridiculous, John. I must study these plans. This is the most interesting thing that I've seen in years."

"More interesting that Lady Dubois?"

Sherlock turned to face John. "Don't be ridiculous. How could any woman compare to plans such as these?"

John smiled and secured his glass before going off to find his bunk.

Sherlock sat alone in his cabin in the back of the rocking ship, the light of his lamp spilling through the carved wooden shutters and onto the shore where the grey turbaned man stood watching all night long.


	7. An Honest Cargo

Just before dawn, the crew gathered below decks. The sailing master, Robin Murray stood on a box so that they could all see him, though that was hardly necessary as he was naturally very large.

"Now listen up, men. We are going to take on cargo like a respectable merchant ship as part of our cover. You need to be on your best behavior at this port. Don't let anyone down in the hold where they'll see the cannons. Don't let anyone even suspect that we are anything other than a tame little cargo ship. No leaving dock. No leaving the ship at all if you aren't loading. Clean shirts, and neckchiefs tied straight. Smiles and good manners. If anyone puts us under suspicion of being who we really are, then I'll have that man's intestines for my garters. Do you all understand me?"

Grunts of assent and the occasional 'yes sir' rang out. Then Wiggin stepped forward and asked, "But what about the prize money? Ain't no prize in being a slow haller. Are we gonna get a split of the cargo we're loading?"

"The cargo is the captain's. Anyone touch it, and you know what he'll do to you."

"I wonder how long a man can live without intestines?" Sherlock said. "I've always wanted to know. It would make an interesting experiment."

The silence after that statement echoed loudly in the hold. It was only when the dawn bell rang that the men began to show signs of movement.

The master pointed to the ceiling, "You'll go on deck and load that cargo like regular sailors and keep your mouths shut or I'll hear about it! GO!"

As the men rushed up the ladders onto deck, John walked over to Sherlock. "The men look none too pleased with this. We already have the treasure chest plans. Can't we just high tail it out now? No one would catch us."

"If we left without cargo then suspicion would surely be cast on Bartelby. We stick with the plan until we're out of port."

"Then what? Deliver cargo like a common freighter? We're a fighting ship."

"We keep up the merchant sails until we're out of sight of land. Then, who knows? Maybe the good ship Cuckoo will fall prey to the Black Scorpion."

Sherlock straightened his collar and his cap and climbed on the gangway to await the delivery of cargo.

A young man in a striped coat rushed forward and shook Sherlock's hand. "Captain Black, so good to meet you again. It's lucky that you came into port when you did. This shipment was meant to leave last week on a ship bound to Exeter, but it never arrived, and if I don't make my deadline, then I will lose my contract."

"Don't worry," Sherlock said, "We'll treat your cargo as if it were our very own." He jerked his head to the side and a hulk of a man, came down the gangway to begin loading the crates.

The man in the striped coat jumped back at the sight of him, cringing at the parallel scars gouging both cheeks on the sailer who lifted crates over his head and walked back up the ramp.

Sherlock put on a pleasant smile, and led the man off the ship to the dock so that they might complete the paperwork in the dock office.

By midday, the cargo was loaded and secured. Sherlock was in his cabin looking at maps, when Wiggin knocked at the door. "Cap'n, there's a woman asking to see you," he said.

"Tell Molly I'll be out as soon as I can."

"Tit ain't Molly, Cap'n."

Sherlock heard the sound of catcalls as he walked onto the deck. On the dock stood a ravishing woman in blue. Her tight waisted coat emphasizing the curve of her hips as she walked forward. The tip of her lace umbrella digging into the wood of the ramp. "Monsieur Black. I wondered if I might impose."

Sherlock strode down the ramp to stand before her. "What is it, Miss Dubois?"

"I have received a letter which tells me that I must return to court immediately, but no ship is expected to arrive for another week. This place is such an awful backwater. If you can find it in your heart to drop me off at the next port, then I would be more than grateful."

"This is not a passenger ship, Miss Dubois."  
"I know, but I must have passage. I cannot delay, not even a day."  
"How unfortunate for you."  
"Monsieur Black, how can you be so cruel. A position in court is life and death. I must insist that you allow me to passage."

"Interesting enough, I am the Captain of this vessel, not you, Miss."

"But, I can make it worth your while."

"How exactly?"

The woman reached out her hand and a servant passed her a purse. It jingled. She opened it to reveal a host of silver coins. "I can make it profitable for you, Monsieur Black. I only need passage to the next port. Somewhere that I may find a ship bound for France. I am willing to pay you handsomely for this small service. In the name of our friendship."

"But Miss Dubois, you are not my friend."

"Sir, you wound me. A respectable ship has no valid reason to deny the passage of a paying passenger. Especially when her request is so mild, and the advantage for you is so great. Is there, perhaps, something wrong with your ship? Should I, perhaps, inform the authorities of this so that they may search your ship? An inspection. I need only say a word or two. My friend, the bailiff, is ...quite attentive to such manners."

"Ooh, you are good. Wait here."

Sherlock walked back up the ramp. John came from below decks and looked at the lady onshore before rushing to his side, "What does she want?"

"Passage to the next port."

"Let her swim there!"

"Why, John. That's not very gallant."

"We're barely keeping up this farce as it is. We can't have some ...lady on board. It's insane."  
"We can't take an inspection."

Wiggin stepped close and opened his jacket to reveal a huge knife. "Don't worry Cap'n we could take these landlubbers on any day."

"Captain," Master Murray said, "We are at anchor and we have a long passage up river before we are on the open sea. They have position on us."

"Wiggin, go to the master's quarters, clear out anything incriminating and put it in the quartermaster's room. We'll drop the lass off at the very next port in a row boat if necessary. Haul anchor. We are leaving immediately."

"Yes Cap'n," Wiggin and the master said as they rushed off to do their jobs.

"I don't feel good about this," John said.  
"This isn't about, feelings, John."  
"Are you quite sure? Are you letting your feelings for this woman color your actions? Are you putting the crew at risk because..."

"This isn't some case of calf love, John. We need to get out of this port as soon as possible, and this is the best way."

"Alright, you're the captain," John said, and he walked off with his hands clasped behind his back. Sherlock watched him retreat, and then his attention was drawn to the sight of Wiggin leading the young lady across the deck of the ship. She climbed carefully down into the hold followed by her servant. He watched his grey turbaned head retreat under the deck just as they called the raising of the plank. Then his attention was on the ship, and his longing for the freedom of the sea.


	8. Bushwacked!

Sherlock spent the majority of the day on deck, watching the men as they ran the merchant masts. They couldn't switch sails with a passenger on board. Sherlock gritted his teeth. He felt like the ship was crawling along the coast like a snail.

"Head us out for open water," he called. "This coast hugging is setting my teeth on edge."

"With pleasure, Captain," Murray said.

They turned away from the coast, and headed out into the North Sea. They were going no faster, but at least he didn't have the comparison of the shore to show him how slow they were.

The wind picked up later that day raising Sherlock's spirits. He walked to the prow and looked out. The sun was just about to set and the sky was blue and filled with cirrus clouds which hung in the air like an old man's whiskers. One of them, long and thin, shone golden-yellow in the setting sun, glowing like sparks from a massive campfire.

The bell rang the change of shift, and Sherlock went to his cabin. He took off his coat and loosened his shirt, then he pulled down his silk robe which he wrapped around himself before walking toward his bed. He didn't plan to sleep, but he needed to think.

He was surprised, to find the bed sheets moving.

"John?"

"Really? Is that who you expect to find in your bunk?" A woman's voice said.

Sherlock straightened, "Miss Dubois. Actually, I don't expect to find anyone in my bed. I am the captain. My room and my bunk are my own."

"Pity. It's so much more fun to share."

"Miss, I would appreciate it if you would go back to your cabin until we reach dock."

"But it's so cramped! I like this room so much better."

"Leave or I will instruct my men to carry you out."

"Well, if you insist."

Miss Dubois rose up from the bed to reveal that she was not wearing any clothes at all. Sherlock stared.

Just then John entered the room carrying his coffee set, "Captain, I just thought... sorry, am I interrupting something?"

"On the contrary, John. Miss Dubois was just leaving."

The woman turned toward him and John looked her up and down once before resolutely focusing on her face. "Mmmm, if you say so."

Sherlock removed his silk robe and handed it to the woman. "Excuse my friend, he doesn't know where to look."

Miss Dubois took the robe and wrapped it around her tying the belt tight. It clung much differently to her body than it had to Sherlock's. "Actually, it seems that he knows exactly where to look. It's you that I wonder about."

There was a call from the deck, and a knock on the door announced the entrance of Wiggin. "Mast sighted, sir" he said before turning to stare at the woman in the captain's room.

"John, you go up. I'll be there shortly."

John raised an eyebrow and then he put down his coffee set, opening the cabinet, and securing it on a shelf before pushing Wiggin out of the door and closing it behind him to leave the two of them alone.

"So, Miss Dubois, if that is even your name. Why are you really here?"

"Do you have to ask? I expected more from The Great Pirate Sherlock. When did you know I wasn't simply the ordinary Miss Dubois?"

"No one could ever mistake you for ordinary."

The woman strolled barefoot across the wooden planking and rolled a finger down his arm as she whispered in his ear. "You and I share an interest. Something beautiful and clever should go to someone who can appreciate it. Not that Dunce of a French King."

"What are you speaking of?"

"Don't be coy. I mean the plans for Queen Isabella's chest, of course. I tried to get them myself, but unfortunately, my persuasions were not enough. I should have focused on his daughter. She has quite a torch for you doesn't she?"

"Who are you?"

"Someone with similar interests. It must be here in this room. Ah, lovely John has told me where it is. You secure things of value in that cabinet don't you."

"I won't let you see it."

"You won't?" she said tilting her head so that a curl swung loose. Sherlock stared. Then the bell rang.

"Battle Stations!" A voice called, and Sherlock turned toward the door just as the woman hit him on the side of the head with a riding crop. Sherlock fell to the floor and she continued hitting him over and over until he stayed down. Then she rushed to the cabinet, pulled out the leather folder full of plans and shoved them under her arm.

The door opened and John entered. "Sherlock!" he said rushing to his side.

"Quite a stubborn man, your captain," she said picking up the captain's three-cornered hat and placing it on her own head. "I would love to stay, but I have a ship to catch."

The sound of cannons, swords, and muskets entered through the open door as the woman rushed into the fray.

Another ship had pulled up along side The Scorpion which was unable to outrun it.

The woman climbed up the mast and loosened a rope. Then she swung across, her bare toe pointed like a dancer, before dropping lightly on deck of the other ship.

The man in the grey turban took the plans from her and ran below as another man passed her a cutlass. She waved it in a circle over her head and the ship began to pull away. Sherlock staggered out onto the deck. He grasped the rail and looked out to see her standing on the other ship in his hat and robe, laughing.

"Who was that?" he cried.

"The ship flies the red skull flag," Master Murray said pointing.

"That means that she must be..."

"Yes, John. We've just met Irene, the Pirate Queen."

Someone cried out in pain, and the doctor rushed forward to treat a sailor with a bullet wound.

"Murray, clear the casualties from the deck and raise our right sails. There'll be no more pretending. It's time for the scorpion to strike!"


	9. Laying Course

"The nerve of that woman!" John said as he paced the floor in Sherlock's cabin. "She blows in here all sweetness and light with that hog story about going to court, and then steals our well-earned plans without a by your leave!"

"She is a pirate, John. We can hardly fault her for what we would have done ourselves."

"We certainly can fault her. Her turbaned man servant killed one of our sailors, and four others were wounded bad enough to keep them out of the next fight."

"Who was killed?"

"Scarface."

"Damn! He was a bloody good fighter."

"I suppose that her turbaned man was a better one."

"Not necessarily, John. He had the element of surprise. None of us suspected... but it does show a bit of foresight on your part. You were suspicious of her from the beginning. What did you see, John? What was it about her that made you suspect her motives?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"I never guessed that she would be a pirate. But you said, 'Let her swim'. You must have seen something."

"She just seemed...I don't know, Sherlock. The way that she acted. It didn't fit with who she claimed to be."

"Then I must remember to take note of your opinion more often. You seem to have a sixth sense about people, women especially. Please keep me informed of any other suspicions that you have in future."

"Certainly, but what do we do now? We don't have the plans. Even if we get the chest, then we can't open it."

"Why do you say that, John?"

"Because she took the plans with her."

"Did you not see me studying the plans? I had an entire night with them. Do you take me for a dunce? I figured out how to work the thing within the first five minutes. I was more upset about the loss of my hat. What concerns me now is that we are not the only ones planning to steal this treasure. If her ship gets there first, it will be much harder to get the box back from her than it would be take it from the navy."

"But, I hear the admiral's ship itself is planning to escort the treasure. The Penguin is a first class ship. We can't possibly think to take it on our own."

"If I didn't think that we could take the box from the Penguin, I would never have started this venture. See to your casualties John, and we will talk plans tomorrow."

* * *

As light dawned the next morning, they found a deserted part of shore and dropped anchor. The ship, now properly clad in black sails, rolled silently toward shore letting off a boat load of spies. They fanned out into the forest to discover the time of departure for the admiral's ship. Their days of being a merchant ship were over, and Sherlock oversaw the removal of the cannon covers and the benign nameplate. The false figurehead of a nondescript woman was removed, and a scorpion, claws out with a tail curled in attack was revealed. A group of sailors painted the Scorpion black.

Sooner than they could imagine, their spies returned. Sherlock read the note that they passed him and then called out. "Wiggin! Call the officers for a meeting. Five minutes or I'll roast 'em in in oil!"

"Aye, Aye Captain!" he said rushing off.

John rushed into the room to ask for news, but Sherlock motioned him to help with the table. They lifted the sides and pulled it apart inserting the leaves to make it longer. In few minutes, Wiggin rushed in with stools followed by the ship's boy.

The officers came one by one and sat around the table until they were all there: Sherlock Holmes, the Captain; Dr. John (three continents) Watson, Ship's surgeon; Robin (the robber) Murray, Sailing Master; Simpson (low tide)Steward, Master's mate; A.G. (bloody fist) Gracey, Weapon's master; Saul (rat's tail) Berry, Quartermaster and Ship's carpenter. Bill Wiggins stood by the door making sure that the crew's interests were considered, because a pirate ship was the fairest to the crew of any type of ship asail on the seven seas.

"What ho?" Murray asked. "When'll the Penguin sail?"

Sherlock smoothed the note outon the table. "There is to be a parade on the docks in London Town next Saturday noon to celebrate."

"Noon?" Berry said. "Then it'll be full day when they cross. They'll see us miles off!"

"No," Murray said. "A parade means speeches and royal visits and the like. They'll take hours. Then they have to thread through the Thames. They won't get t' full sail till eventide. They'll probably wait a bit to make sure that they dock when the sun is up. They'll want a spectacle."

"It'll be a spectacle alright when they land in France with sails full of holes and no cargo." Gracey said with a lopsided grin that showed that half of his teeth had been knocked out.

"What'll the sea be like?" Murray asked, and all eyes turned to the captain.

Sherlock raised his head and glanced out of the window. Then he narrowed his eyes. "They'll be going across the tide. That will slow them down, and with a last quarter moon, only the stars will alert them to our presence. If we come in the right way, we'll be upon them before they even notice us."

"But even if we do find them," Berry said," They can blow us out of the water. They have many more canons than we."

"But we have the speed!" Steward interjected. "A heavy ship like that moves like an elephant."

"It gores like one too if we get too close," Berry countered.

"Then we won't get too close," Sherlock said.

"Pardon me for asking," John said, "But how are we to get the chest if we don't get close?"

Sherlock stood and smiled as he said, "Don't worry, John. I have a plan."

The sun was two hours past noon when they rose to their feet to leave. "There's no time to waste," Sherlock said."We must be ready by Saturday morn." The officers streamed out of the cabin then and set to work.

The carpenter pulled up a boat and began outfitting it for a special mission, while Sherlock looked in his wardrobe for clothes of black.


	10. Storming the Penguin

The stars stretched overhead in a moonless sky colored only by the pale glow of the Milky way. The prow of the Penguin cut through the dark waters as it sailed below. It was alight with lanterns, port and starboard, bow and stern, glowing like a palace above a sea black as ink. The men on the ship strode with confidence across the deck, never suspecting that another ship lurked in its path, a ship with lanterns shrouded, a ship with black sails. It lowered a wooden boat into the water directly in front of the glowing ship before sailing away.

Sherlock and John watched the Penguin approach. They sat in a rowboat directly in its path. They were dressed in black, hoping that the darkness would hide them from the view of the men in the crows nest who were most certainly looking for larger boats than this. Sherlock stuck out an oar to keep the boat from drifting out of line and then stared as the ship rushed toward them faster than the charge of a wild boar, its prow towering above the water's surface higher than a house. John put a hand out and touched Sherlock's wrist, then he picked up a rope. Sherlock made a minor adjustment with the oar before lifting it out of the water and placing it in the bottom of the boat. He stood then, hefting his grapple in his hand.

It seemed for a moment that the ship would crush them, sending them to the bottom to wallow in Davy Jones' locker, but as the bow wave rushed toward them, they were pushed leeward and the ship charged past, a wall of moving wood only two arms lengths away.

Sherlock threw his grapple against the ship, but instead of boring into the side, it bounced off of the copper bottom and fell into the sea. John's throw was higher and his hook stuck firm pulling the line off to the right. Very quickly the rope became taut, and the shock of its pull as it towed the boat along behind sent them both sprawling. John pushed Sherlock off of him and then cast again. His grapple caught the edge of the bulwark and he tugged on the rope, wrapping it around one arm to keep it steady before nodding to Sherlock to begin his climb. John thrust out a knee, and Sherlock climbed up him, standing on his shoulders and then pulling himself up the side of the ship, the black of his cloak waving from side to side as he climbed. John followed, swinging his feet across to land on the topsides, leaving the boat below to bang against the hull.

Sherlock lifted his head over the edge, and then ducked back down. Then he hauled himself over and rolled across the deck placing his back against a coil of rope. John came over a few moments later and went to his side. They scurried across the deck until they found better concealment then they removed their cloaks to reveal the uniforms of Naval Marine officers. They strode across the deck until they found a hatch, and climbed down the ladder as if they belonged there.

Sherlock had explained it days ago as they all sat in the wardroom discussing plans. "We can't pretend to be crew. On a ship like that, they are sure to know each other by sight, not like merchant ships where new men might be signed on at any port. No, we will go in disguised as marines. For a project such as this, they would have taken on a new regiment of men for protection, not to mention the color guard for the official parade when we reach shore. The crew won't know them all, and that is their weakness. We'll go below decks and using this map, provided by my very good friend Lady Haverstone, who was given a tour, we will make our way to where the chest is stored."

In practice, it was a bit more complicated than planned because the door was locked. Sherlock had to pick it circumspectly while John concealed him.

"This would be easier if you were the one doing the concealing. With your big coat, no one would even notice me," John said.

"Alas if that were true, but until you learn how to pick locks, needs must suffice." There was a click, and Sherlock slipped inside, closing the door quietly once John had slipped through.

The room was dark, and it took a moment for their eyes to adjust. Sherlock lit a small taper. An elaborately carved box was on the edge of the room. It was strapped against the bulkhead by a series of firm sailor's knots. John reached out and shook it, but it held fast. Sherlock handed him the candle and then put his hands against the box, feeling its surface.

"Well the Captain certainly keeps things ships shape and Bristol fashion," John said. "Then again, I suppose that makes sense with the admiral on board."

"Quiet, John, I'm trying to count. This drawer must be depressed a specific number of times before it will... damn! I don't know why it's not working. Let me try the other panel." Sherlock was crouched beside the chest, his fingers pushing and pulling at the wooden decorations.

"Wouldn't it be better if we untied the chest first? Even if you open it, we can't get inside until ..."

"Just a minute!" Sherlock said in a harsh whisper. Then he stood completely still before pushing himself away from the box. "John, this isn't the Isabella chest."

John looked down at it. "It certainly looks like it to me."

"It looks like it, but it is not. This is a fake, and I must conclude that if this is a fake that this entire set up is a trap."

As if they had been waiting for this signal, a lamp was uncovered, and guards stepped out of the room beyond guns raised. One with a bayonette walked across and opened the door to let in more guards. John reached for his pistol, but Sherlock gestured to stop him. Then the guards rushed forward and divested them of their weapons before pushing them forcefully out of the door.

They were thrust above deck where the admiral stood waiting with some of his men. They stripped off their coats and hats and left them standing in shirts and breaches beneath his smug gaze. He walked past them, his hands behind his back, his tall hat peaked above him like a mountain as the guards held on to them from behind.

"So Donovan? That's our man?" he said with a bit of a lilt in his voice.

"Yes sir," said the dark-haired officer.

"Sherlock the Pirate? Looks a bit of a Weirdie that one. Often are... those criminal types."

John took half a step forward and glared at him, but the guards pulled him back into line.

Just then a seaman rushed up with a pair of heavy shackles held together by a chain. The guards pulled Sherlock's hands forward as he thrust one shackle on Sherlock's wrist slamming it shut. A different guard placed the other shackle onto John's right wrist.

"We'll see how you like being a prisoner. But don't worry, shan't be long before you'll be hanged for your crimes." He smiled down at Sherlock, then he turned to look at John who was baring his teeth. "What you lookin' at?" The admiral said.

Right then an explosion sounded and something tore through the sail. The admiral and all of the guards looked up in shock, and John took the opportunity to punch the admiral in the jaw. He grabbed the chain then and pulled Sherlock to the starboard edge of the boat as the Scorpion attacked from the port side. John leaned over the rail and looked down. The boat was gone, where it had been there were only shards of wood being dragged behind a rope still grappled to the hull. John cursed, and then looked over his shoulder at the guards who were raising their rifles. The soldiers were distracted when the mast exploded over their heads making them duck and rush for cover. Chain shot had cracked the mizzenmast and it started to fall across the deck. John climbed on the rail, and Sherlock followed. In the chaos of the battle, the two of them jumped over the side and into the pitch-black sea.


	11. Adrift

The sea was cold, and the heavy chain pulled them down below the water. John pushed hard with his arms and legs until his head broke the surface. Explosions lit the sky, but he couldn't see Sherlock. He felt him though, as a tug on the chain.

John dove under the water and found him. He wrapped his arms around him and pulled Sherlock, kicking with strong strokes, until they surfaced. Sherlock had been knocked out, either by the fall, or some bit of debris from the explosion. John held him against his chest as he swam on his back away from the ship. There was fire on the deck of the Penguin. The entire ship shook from the blast of the cannons as it fired back on the Scorpion.

John tried to reach out his arm to swim faster, but the chain would not let him stretch out, and it unsettled Sherlock so that his head fell under the water again. John righted them, and began looking for something to help them float.

The sky was alight with bright starbursts of cannon fire. He could see the charge of the Black Scorpion as it did a broadside, shooting all its cannons at the larger ship. It then turned and sailed away rapidly, but the gunship followed close behind. Unfortunately, the Penguin was more maneuverable than they had supposed. It turned sharply and fired on the stern of the Scorpion causing part of the it to fall into the sea. Sherlock rolled off of John then, and he lost sight of the battle as he scrambled to save them both from drowning.

In the uneven light, John saw a bit of flotsom up ahead. He swam toward it, his arm around Sherlock's neck as he pulled him behind. It was a large log with a bit of sail on it. John caught it with his left hand and then threw the chain over the top. He tried to scramble on top of it, but Sherlock slipped into the water, and John fell head first on the other side. They both dropped below the surface, but the chain held them up. It was draped over the log.

John climbed out of the water and pulled Sherlock up. He had regained consciousness, and was coughing while clinging to the log which John now realized was the part of the mast that had been broken off during the first shots of the battle. With the chain weighing them down, and Sherlock's concussion, John calculated that holding onto this bit of mast afforded them the best chance for survival.

He raised his head and looked toward the ships. The battle had taken them far away and they were going farther still. He called out as best he could, but with the cannon fire and the dark sea no one even noticed that they were there.

Sherlock started to roll off of the log again, so John grabbed hold of the chain. He held the back of Sherlock's neck and pulled him forward until his chest was on top of the log while John floated below it. It was a bit difficult to hold on, but if they stayed very still, then the log would not roll.

The sounds of battle were almost lost in the splash of the waves as the ships sailed toward the horizon. John honestly could not tell if the Scorpion had survived. "It'll get away, it always gets away," he said out loud to reassure himself.

Sherlock raised his head at the sound of John's voice. He was too thin, and too cold. He began to shiver. John looked for some more flotsam to float Sherlock on, but there was nothing bigger than the log that they were holding onto.

John's boots were flooded, and he debated whether to keep them or drop them into the sea, deciding on the later because the weight was pulling him down. He toed the second boot off with too much force and unbalanced them again so that Sherlock went under once more. He pulled himself back up grabbing more firmly to the log while John tread water on the other side. John swam forward then and grabbed Sherlock's arm through his wet shirt. Then he reached an arm around his shoulders and held their heads close together so that their foreheads touched.

"Sherlock, how are you?" John asked.

Sherlock didn't answer, but he reached out with his right hand, and grabbed John's arm placing his head onto John's shoulder. They clung to each other, relaxing as the rest of their bodies floated in the water. The log started to roll again, so Sherlock let his legs float out and back to steady them as he lay his cheek on the wood staring into John's face. John lay his head down as well and he stared over at Sherlock his hand behind Sherlock's neck while Sherlock firmly held John's wrist. If they didn't move too much, they could stay balanced, and with their heads out of the water they could talk.

"The ship" Sherlock said. "Did they get away?"

"Don't know," John replied. "They were running with the Penguin on their tail when I last saw them, but I've been a bit distracted since then trying to keep from drowning."

"Ah, me too. The row boat?"

"Destroyed."

"Any other craft nearby?"

"Not that I've seen. They didn't have time to lower a boat."

"Damn. Then we're stuck floating. How far do you think we are off shore?"

"Some miles...heck, I don't know. I thought that you'd remember. You're the captain. Can't you tell by the stars or something?"

"You know I don't know anything about the stars."

Sherlock's shivering started to unbalance the mast again, so John pulled Sherlock a bit higher. He reached over and by tugging on Sherlock's belt, he was able to balance his hip on top of the log so that most of Sherlock was out of the water.

"You're thin as a rail," John said. "We really need to get some body mass on you. You'll go into hypothermia."

"If I don't drown first." Sherlock said closing his eyes as his fingers began to loosen on John's arm.

"Don't fall asleep. Not with that head injury," John said.

"Then keep me awake, John. Talk to me."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know, tell me a story, a joke."

"I can't think of any."

"Then think harder! Always a problem of yours, John."

"Alright, a joke then...What letter of the alphabet is the most loved by pirates?"

"What? That's ridiculous. People don't love letters, they are simply tools used in writing."

"Just answer the question."

"It better not be R." Sherlock said. "There are enough myths about seamen without the slur that we growl when we speak."

"It's not R."

"Then what is it?"

"Guess."

"S, T, H, M?"

"No"

"Q, N, V, W?"

"No Sherlock. Wrong, wrong, wrong."

"Then tell me, What letter do pirates love?"

"Why Sherlock, you must know that a pirate's first and best love is the C."

John smiled as Sherlock huffed out a breath before starting to cough up half of his lungs. The doctor floated closer and patted him on the back, only stopping when the log started to roll again.

"I'm fine, John. I'm fine," Sherlock said, and they settled down again.

"If I only had my knife," John said, "then you could pick this lock and we could swim away from here."

"And if only we could fly, we would fly to where the ship is. There's no point in what ifs. It is now that we must worry about ."

Sherlock turned his shoulders then, and looked up at the sky. All was calm except for the gentle up and down of the swells, and the steady whoosh of a light wind. John placed his head against the wood.

"Beautiful aren't they?" Sherlock said.

"What is?"

"The stars, they're beautiful."

John turned his face upward and looked at the Milky Way arching above their heads. More stars than he had ever remembered seeing in his life were stretched across the sky. Their tiny lights colored pinpoints through the arc of heaven. He grasped the log tighter for fear that he would fall into it and never return to the Earth.

"Yes, they are beautiful," John said. "But I thought that you didn't care about the stars."

"Just because I don't find them important to know, that doesn't mean that I don't consider them beautiful, John. I may be a pirate, but I'm not a barbarian. I may not talk about it much, but there are many things in this world that I find beautiful."

John turned and found Sherlock staring back at him. He took a breath and then looked back up at the stars saying, "Well, we may very well die in this beautiful place. The water is too cold, and we are too far from shore. If we didn't have this chain, then I'd suggest that we take a chance and swim, but ...I don't think we'd get very far chained together. I suppose we'll just have to wait until our bodies wash to shore, if a whale doesn't eat us, that is."

"I'd welcome a whale. At least it would be interesting,"

John lay his head on the log, and Sherlock pulled himself forward until their heads were touching. They floated this way in silence accompanied only by the stars overhead and the schools of fish swimming below their feet.


End file.
